


The big striped cat with a long tail

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Just for Laughs, M/M, New Year's Eve, PWP, Sherlock missing again, Tigers in London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22052494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is missing....again.A tiger has been spotted near Baker Street. Are you thinking what I am thinking?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	The big striped cat with a long tail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



> Darling IantoLives, hope you enjoy this New Year crack fic gift!!!

Jim Moriarty was having an eventful morning. Even as a tax-paying, legit businessman and a reformed former criminal mastermind his life was hard. Sometimes his clients called and made some of the weirdest requests. They didn’t spare him even during the festive season, Christmas and leading right up to New Year’s Day.

He had just acquired a company in Belgium, ordered a rare piece of art from Berlin, wished the Australian Prime Minister a joyful new year and finished two rounds of hot sex with his husband and business partner, former sniper Colonel Sebastian Moran, when a call came in.

“Moriarty….what, oh yes hello Mr. Sassoon, yes, yes of course I got your gift, the finest of wines from your vineyard, thanks for them,” Jim went, trying to fend off the impatience and boredom from his voice as his husband smirked at his predicament and smoked a cigarette in bed. Sebastian wasn’t allowed to smoke much and even if he did get the permission to get his nicotine shot, it was never allowed in the bedroom or the bed unless it was a special occasion. Today was such an occasion, it was New Year’s Eve, and he was enjoying every moment of this rare liberty just as much as he enjoyed watching and hearing Jim talk to some of the moron clients who kept calling the former criminal.

“What?” Jim jumped, “No, I _cannot kill your wife_ for you.”

Sebastian quirked a brow.

“No, I have given up that thug life. Yes, that’s true.”

Sebastian giggled.

Jim threw a death glare at him and kicked him on the shin. Then he cleared his throat and said, “No, I will not. But you can contact Patterson. He does these jobs now and then. If you offer him good money then he might consider it. What? She _seduced_ him?! Too bad then, there is no one else I can recommend. I suggest you divorce her and get rid of her with a…..depending on a prenup, a _payoff_.”

Jim disconnected and burst out laughing as Sebastian also roared with laughter. “Kitten, sometimes I can’t believe people _still think_ …..” Sebastian had just stubbed out his cigarette and pulled Jim closer for a kiss when the Irishman’s phone rang again.

“I won’t take it,” Jim whined.

“You better.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Mycroft Holmes.”

***

_Few minutes earlier_

“Maybe we should have just hosted New Year’s Dinner at our place,” Mycroft Holmes fidgeted and fretted, “Sherlock hosting dinner, that seems as likely to be successful as getting North Korea to abandon its nuclear weaponry.” He was decidedly worried and tense as he sat with a cup of tea and a small can of gun cleaning oil in his hands. He was cleaning all three handguns he had, the latest Glock he was commissioned for official use, the Colt Night Cobra which he owned as a private citizen and the vintage expensive wood and ivory handled 1950s model Browning limited edition that his husband Greg Lestrade had gifted him a year ago.

Greg looked up from his newspaper, a habit that had endured despite the modern era trend of listening to it on television or reading on a mobile phone. “Oh c’mon, relax, he will manage,” said the detective inspector from Scotland Yard and Mycroft’s husband for three years running, “Give your brother a wide berth, sometimes. Plus, he isn’t exactly the only one organizing it. There is the wonderful Mrs. Hudson who’ll surely oversee the food arrangement and then there is good old dependable John Watson who will take care of the logistics and alcohol. I am sure it will be fine.”

“Hmmm,” Mycroft said, “We will find out in a few hours, won’t we?”

“I am sure we will be surprised.”

“We will be surprised no doubt, whether it will be pleasant or unpleasant we have no clue.”

“Oh Mike, you are such a doubting Thomas. Your brother is a good man. Sherlock has been at his best behavior for the past…”

_“Twenty odd days?”_

  
“Yes, something like that.”

Mycroft huffed out a sarcastic chuckle, “Then you know he hasn’t too much left to continue being good and stable. I have a feeling he will do something terrible and that will happen soon.”

Mycroft’s cell phone trilled and the Mi6 chief reached out for it. He mouthed ‘John’ and answered the call with a pleasant but measured politeness, his usual style. “Hello John, hope all is well with tonight’s arrangement…..um, sorry, I mean with you and that _brother of mine._ ”

Greg watched and rolled his eyes but that easygoing and playful look on his face disappeared when Mycroft sat up straighter and gasped, “What?” Then he listened and added, “Fair enough, we will be over soon. Just hang in there.” He disconnected and looked at Greg, “What did I tell you? Stability, peace and Sherlock can’t exist in a sentence let alone in a situation. My brat of a younger brother is missing and that’s not all….there is a tiger loose in the Baker Street area.”

Greg almost fell off his chair, “What? Sherlock missing? But he often goes missing and comes back perfectly fine and spruce, hours later. What makes John think something has gone wrong? And this tiger thing…whatever does that mean?”

“It means _exactly_ what you just heard and even I am taken aback,” Mycroft looked agitated, which was a huge change on a normally cool and composed man like him, “First thing, Sherlock hasn’t returned since last evening….which is reasonably _too long_ for us to worry that he might be in trouble. Second thing, John wouldn’t call me unless he had looked in all the usual places and made the usual phone calls. Three, the tiger this is so far just a rumor because only your silly sergeant Phil Andersen reportedly ‘saw’ a big striped cat in the neighborhood and so far no one else did. But I must go and find out the truth because _if that rumor is true_ , we will have massive panic and mayhem on a day like this when there are so many people on the streets.”

***

_15 minutes earlier_

John walked into the flat with a worried look on his face. He went straight for the wet bar he had recently purchased and installed, a self-gift for Christmas, and added the bottles he’d just purchased to the already impressive collection of wines, whiskies, vodkas, gins and tequilas.

The flat was squeaky clean and jazzed up with decorations for the festive season, all thanks to Mrs. Hudson and a huge lumbering guy named Frank whom she had hired to help her run her cookery and baking classes and also to help her around the house. He used to be convicted criminal and worked for her husband but now he led a normal and peaceful life, content with the salary he drew from his former employer’s wife and the weekend work he did at a nightclub as a bouncer.

“Guess what the menu is for tonight dear John?” Mrs. Hudson emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

“I can _sniff_ most of it,” John smiled despite the worries clouding his thoughts. Sherlock was incommunicado. Almost twenty-four hours. _The stupid irresponsible childlike man!_ Did he forget they had invited Mycroft, Greg, Jim, Sebastian, Molly and Mike Stamford for dinner!

“Red pepper jelly and orange glazed ham, sour cream mashed potatoes with crumbled bacon, chicken drumsticks and root vegetables in mustard tarragon sauce, beef bourguignon, whole roasted cauliflower with feta and mint sauce, green bean casserole with crispy pork sausage, lemon garlic braised carrots and a double white chocolate cake. For finger food as a starter/snacks while we have our drinks, I have devilled eggs, parmesan pastry pipes, glazed sweet potatoes and tangy cranberry meatballs. Don’t give me all the credit because Frank here has helped me at every step.”

Saliva would have gathered in John’s mouth had he not been so preoccupied with Sherlock’s absence. Twenty four hours was a long time, unless he had taken a case. In that scenario he would have at least left a note for John saying he was solving a case somewhere. _What if he was in some sort of trouble while they were all celebrating here._ “That’s wonderful,” he said in a subdued manner, not wishing to sadden her or dampen her enthusiasm, “You have truly outdone yourself Hudders.”

He managed to fool the big log Frank who seemed very happy to hear the appreciation. But Mrs. Hudson was not so easily fooled. She smiled but a look of realization blossomed on her face at the same time. Tilting her head she said gently, “Why do you even _try_ doc?” Then, as he looked at her with a start, she added, “Try to fake a smile or lie? You aren’t even capable of lying convincingly and faking a smile makes you face twist into a grimace instead. What’s the matter? You can tell me. I don’t see Sherlock anywhere so I am assuming it’s one of those little domestic….things you guys had this morning? Has he left in a huff? Well, that’s a totally new things because it’s you who usually walks out, clears his head, cools down and comes back home happy again!”

“No fights. No arguments. He’s missing for a whole day.”

“Some case?”

“I checked all possible sources. None at all.”

“Maybe he went out…..”

_“For???”_

“You are _right_. It’s been too long for _that kind_ of absence! We must inform his _brother_ at once, maybe his team picked up something in their surveillance cameras.”

“Yes,” John whipped out his phone, “Also we must let Jim know. He still has lots of contacts around the city and would know where to look for Sherlock.”

The whole situation was then turned upside down by the arrival of two people. One was young Simon, a kid who lived down the street and often did odd jobs for Sherlock. He was also someone who idolized Sherlock and was more or less ‘liked’ by the sleuth. Young, gangly, bright and witty, with enough sarcasm to load up a war tank, he evidently reminded Sherlock a bit about his earlier self.

Behind Simon was Phil Andersen and he looked like wolves had been on his tail. He literally burst in through the door and fell into the couch.

“He’s drunk,” Simon said nonchalantly as he started putting some fresh flowers into the three vases in the flat, “Or he’s gone insane. Or maybe hallucinating because he’s overworked and sleep-deprived.” He smirked at the visibly annoyed Andersen and added in his customary cheeky manner, “Or perhaps _all three_!”

“The fuck I am…..” Andersen yelled, then sobered up when he saw the scandalized look on Mrs. Hudson’s face, “I’m sorry….sorry, but I got chased….by a bloody _tiger._ ”

Those unexpected words drew varied reactions from all those who were present there. While the cheeky Simon wickedly tapped on his temple and said, ‘See I told ya all, he’s a bit wonky up there today’, Frank burst into roaring laughter as if he had just watched a comic pantomime from a VIP first row. John temporarily forgot his worries and concerns over Sherlock and stared at Andersen, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. This time even he was inclined to agree with Simon that Andersen had _lost it_. Mrs. Hudson seemed taken aback at first but she recovered remarkably and said, “Oh Phil, you have been watching too many adventure thrillers. It must have been an oversized cat with stripes. You know Mrs. Harley who lives on the next street owns a huge Cheshire cat that can be easily _mistaken_ for a tiger cub!!!”

“The hell I am,” Andersen seemed offended to the core as he stood up, still breathless but anger giving him renewed strength, “I am NOT hallucinating like that little jerk just said and I DO know the difference between a housecat and a big striped jungle cat Mrs. Hudson. I had just stepped out of the tube station and stepped into a small alley to have a quick smoke before I headed over to a friend who lives nearby, when that thing _sprung up right before me._ Damn thing was so huge, it gave me a heart attack almost. I-I tell you, it smelled funny and it was a big striped cat with a long tail....”

_Simon snickered. Frank stifled a chuckle._

But John took him _somewhat_ seriously, “Where did it go then?”

“I didn’t stay back to find out. I value my life, thank you very much!”

“Well, I suppose that’s a fair point. We must inform animal control then.”

“Wait,” Andersen looked around, “Where is Sherlock? He can _solve_ this.”

“Oh Phil,” Mrs. Hudson said, “He is a detective who solves crimes. He can’t contain or capture tigers on the loose….”

“Or fix wackos who see tigers roaming London streets in broad daylight,” Simon added and exchanged a high-five with Frank.

Andersen growled at the teenager and hissed through his teeth, “You insolent little catamite. The next time the damned striped cat is here I wish it takes a big bite out of you.” Then he sobered up and looked at John, “But seriously, _where is Sherlock_? I didn’t mean to say he can capture the big cat but he can help capture it. He always has an answer to problems, he knows what’s to be done next.”

“That is the problem Andersen,” John said in a solemn voice, “Sherlock is _missing_.”

Unbeknownst to them they had been joined by Molly and Mike Stamford who had decided to drop by earlier than usual and help out with the arrangements for dinner. They were holding bottles of wine, baskets of fruits and cakes and a colorfully wrapped gift each. Having obviously overheard the conversation that was going on, Mike suddenly offered a rather ludicrous but still ‘possible’ reason behind the two mysteries. “Well, Sherlock is missing and suddenly a huge striped tiger shows up in the middle of Baker Street. No one sees him but Andersen. Has anyone thought that the two things might be connected? I mean, Sherlock’s disappearance and the appearance of the big cat?”

“How???” John and Andersen asked together.

“Sherlock loves going incognito, he loves shocking people and he doesn’t really like Andersen,” Mike said with a smile, “Now you people do the _math_.”

“I am not good at math,” Frank stared helplessly at Simon.

The young fellow shrugged and said, “He means to say Sherlock Holmes is missing because he planned to do this trick; which is to dress up as a tiger and scare the living daylights and all kinds of shit outta Phil Andersen. So he, while dressed as a big cat, pounced upon Andersen and just took the mickey out of him!”

“Impossible,” Andersen snapped.

“When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, _must be true_.”

“What the….you don’t think this is true, do you Dr. Watson?”

John was not sure which way the truth swung this time. History had proved that Sherlock was more than capable of pulling off such a believable sneak trick and he could be harmlessly mean to Andersen. So, while he wasn’t totally convinced, he more or less started considering this option as a possible explanation. “Look, Sherlock used to do those things once upon a time, under _influence_ ….”

“Ehm,” Molly meekly butted in, “I saw Sherlock walking towards that area this morning. the same area where he used to get his ‘supplies’ from. I tried to call out to him but as usual he _insulted_ me and walked away. He said ‘Get your own guy and stop tailing me’ and walked off.”

John gasped and quickly grabbed his phone, “Oh shit. I am calling Mycroft right away. Whatever you guys do, don’t call animal control yet, please. We don’t want them to drag Sherlock into some cage or a veterinary hospital, do you?”

“I am almost tempted to do that now,” Andersen said with a withering look on his face and a scoffing tone to match.

***

In less than an hour since they had been informed of the double fiasco, Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran landed at Baker Street. They were joined within minutes by a grim and ashen faces Mycroft Holmes and a very intrigued and worried Gregory Lestrade. Alongside Simon, Molly Hooper, Mrs. Hudson, Mike Stamford and Phil Andersen; Sally Donovan and Simon’s parents Dean and Carole had also gathered together, trying to find a way to solve this issue of a Sherlock in disguise, possibly high from some substance he’d taken earlier, trying to freak people out by going around incognito. Except that he had chosen to disguise himself as a tiger and a roaming tiger in crowded London was sure to cause a massive stampede.

“We can shoot him with this,” Jim showed a small gun, a dart gun, “It will temporarily stun him and he will be taken to Barts, where they can take care of him until he’s feeling fine again.”

“It is a good idea Jimmy but I’m afraid it can’t be done right now,” an anxious Sebastian said as Jim handed him the gun. When everyone turned towards the mini-mountain of a man, puzzled at his response, he just pointed his finger through the open window, at a spot in the distance. “That’s why. He will be unconscious within seconds of taking this and if he falls from that height it will be a bigger problem than what we’re facing now. He might even break his bones from the fall, or worse, his neck.”

“Oh fuck me,” John groaned.

“Why the crazy…..” Mycroft stopped himself from having a meltdown.

“I can’t watch,” Simon’s dad Dean closed his eyes.

“Never try to copy this, never,” Simon’s mum Carole shook her son savagely. The seventeen year old nodded, a bit freaked out by the whole thing.

In the distance, on the sloping roof of the house across the street, perched perilously close to the edge, was Sherlock. He was clad in a tiger suit, his long tail was swishing, he had a tiger mask on his face and head and ears that were programmed to twitch much like the swishing tail. Jim mentioned something about a latest design suit, a 3D suit, which had functionalities to give someone a real-thing feeling.

“Too much of a real thing,” Andersen croaked, “He nearly had me.”

“Told you he is a freak,” Sally Donovan scolded him, “But no, you had to believe he’s changed since he had faked his death five years ago. Once a freak, always a freak.”

There was a gun pressed to her temple the next moment and Jim hissed, “What did you say bitch? What did you say about freaks?”

Donovan made a choked sound, stiffening all over as Jim’s evil eyes almost bore holes into her soul. Sensing that things were going from bad to worse, John decided to take charge of the situation along with Greg Lestrade. While Lestrade and the rest quickly started to make plans to lure Sherlock down to ground level, John asked Donovan to stop messing around. “For the love of God and all that’s holy my dear Sally,” he said sternly, “Can you not cut back on the sarcasm and accusations for a day? Isn’t it enough that we are worried sick about Sherlock or that all these hundreds of pedestrians and dozens of cars might catch a glimpse of him, mistake him for a real tiger, and cause horrible accidents and a stampede?”

“Sorry.”  
  


“Great. Now let’s find a way to….where did he go?”

“He went that way, let’s go.”

Sebastian’s war cry was echoed by Lestrade who claimed the tiger…err….Sherlock, had jumped from one rooftop to the other with amazing alacrity and gone somewhere at right angle, into an alley on the opposite side of the road. Mycroft immediately issued orders to Anthea, who had shown up faithfully on her boss’s summons. “Seal off that alley. See to it that none one crosses it, on foot or car or bike.”

Anthea went downstairs to do her bidding while the rest rushed after her, ready to hit the alley and get Sherlock down from there.

“All this he did and _you_ are not even _aware_ ,” Mycroft taunted Jim as they descended the stairwell together, his tone one of disappointment and accusatory.

“The game has been done and dusted a long time ago,” Jim shot back, “I am not even supposed to keep an eye on him anymore. We meet sometimes, work on some cases yes, but I have better things to do now. I have Sebastian! Why don’t you ask your favorite….Dr. John Watson?”

“Boys, no fighting,” Mrs. Hudson said breathlessly, then inexplicably went into her flat with Frank and Sebastian both following her at her bidding.

John sounded immensely regretful and took full responsibility of the situation. “I should have watched him a bit more,” said the general surgeon as they crossed the street as discreetly and casually as possible so as to not raise eyebrows, “I had no idea this time that he had lapsed.”

***

“Does he do this _often_?” Carole asked John curiously, “Like do this fancy dressing thing?”

“Sometimes he does,” Jim answered her, “Once he dressed up as a woman and entered the nightclub I own, sneaking into the private room I have. What gave him away was the fact that a bra strap had come off and was hanging loose from his dress, like a limp noodle with a hook.”

“Oh he has done this several times before, each time for a different reason,” Greg Lestrade said as the group gathered in the alley, at the side of the building on whose parapet Sherlock sat licking his paws so convincingly that it was hard to claim he was human and not a real predator. “I remember he entered the Yard office dressed like an Arab Sheikh and fooled everyone on the floor,” Greg reminisced, “He was trying to convince us that the Yard was not secure and not everyone who walked in was either there on business or to interview one of the officers. Point was well received, though it did scar one of the secretaries when she found him undressing in the _ladies rest room_ later.”

“Awesome,” Simon said admiringly.

“Don’t talk like an American,” Dean scolded.

“You think Brit kids are better behaved,” Mycroft said snootily, “Sherlock was a Brit kid once. As Brit as they could get.”

‘Graaaanwww’

Everyone paused, looking up at the source of the sound. Sherlock was about forty feet over them. Too much of a height to shoot a loaded dart at him. Jim still insisted they could try but John and Mycroft immediately rubbished the idea. Amidst all this Donovan looked around and said, “But where are Mrs. Hudson, Frank and Colonel Moran? Weren’t they just behind us when we exited 221B?”

“Nope,” Andersen said, shivering at the sight of the disguised Sherlock, “They went into her flat. Probably they _bailed out_. Who wouldn’t? I am crazy not to.”

“I called animal control,” Donovan whispered, “I am not trusting this freak….” She saw Jim looking at her and quickly changed her pitch, “No-No, I mean I am not trusting these tricks, tricks that Mr. Holmes and his team are planning to deploy. What if Sherlock escapes them?”

‘Hnngggggaawnnn’

“Why is he making those odd noises now?” Jim asked, shaking his head, “Hey Sherly, you are making a fool of yourself you know. I am video recording this. You’ll be sorry later.”

“He is really trying hard you know,” Mike Stamford, who had been quietly observing so far, whispered to Mycroft, grinning, “Even sounds like a tiger, albeit an annoyed and jaded one, a tiger who hasn’t fed in a while and can’t decide whether to go for the kill or simply sit still.”

“You think this is _funny_?” Mycroft said in cold anger at the professor of medicine while Greg, standing behind Mycroft, made desperate gestures with his hand to ask the man to keep quiet.

“Oh well, I am sorry, didn’t mean to be insensitive……” Mike began and then narrowed his eyes and said, “Is that Mrs. Hudson, Colonel Sebastian Moran and Frank I see up there, right behind the tiger, a few feet above on that open window?” All heads turned and they realized why those three had been missing from the scene. They had somehow entered the building and broken into the empty office space and positioned themselves tactfully close to Sherlock without giving away their presence. Jim squealed with delight! “I knew my tiger will find a way to get to Sherlock, go Sebby go, go Tiger go!”

“Easy now easy, careful please,” Mycroft was on his toes, shaking with nerves, “Don’t do anything sudden. My bones are just ice right now.”

“I _know,”_ Jim said curtly.

“How?”

“You are holding my hand so tight….a grip like a mangle, let GO!”

“Sorry!”

“Owww,” Jim massaged the spot and looked up again, assessing the movements of the people up there, “Oh, that is a clever plan indeed. They are going to wrap him in that huge blanket and tie him up, thereby immobilizing him and preventing him from escaping. If he can’t see where he is, maybe he can be easily restrained. Then we give him that tranquilizer and knock his troublemaking arse out.”

As if on cue, a daredevil Mrs. Hudson dropped the blanket on top of Sherlock and Sebastian and Frank jumped down on the parapet on either side of the detective. Then they tied him up easily and when Sherlock, trying to stay in character, made some growling noises, both of them punched him and kicked him thoroughly. Seeing that a devastated John Watson shouted, “No, don’t. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You can’t hit him.”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian called out, “The bruises won’t stay for long.”

A collective cheer went up as Frank lifted the heavy dumbbell he had carried (John suspected he wanted to use it to knock Sherlock out) and made a victory sign. Next to him Sebastian was smug while Mrs. Hudson beamed from the window above. “Yes, good job lads, we did it,” she said cheerfully, “Now can some of your men come up and help us get him into this office, then carry him downstairs.”

_“What exactly is going on here?”_

That was a _defining moment_ of the _year_ for everyone as they turned to the sound of the familiar baritone and looked straight into the rather puzzled face and green eyes of a certain William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Standing six feet tall, clad in his usual Belstaff frock coat, boots, scarf and gloves, his sculpted cheekbones carrying a faint flush of red due to the nip in the air, he was as real as the date was 31st December. Jim stepped closer and sniffed at him, then nodded and said, “It is him. It’s the same smell of cigarettes, his Davidoff cologne, unwashed muffler and a hint of the tea he drinks. He spilled some on his coat. Oh and no, he isn’t under any influence at all.”

“Influence?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“Sherl, where were you?” John rushed up to him.

“What on earth is wrong with you, disappearing without a trace and even tampering with m surveillance devices,” Mycroft said disapprovingly.

“He looks handsome as always,” Molly cooed.

“Oh thank God, I shall ask my men to stand down,” Greg said with a relieved smile, “I think you can tell Anthea and your team the same thing.”

“Wait,” Simon seemed to be the only one in his senses as he pointed above, “If Sherlock is here then who….or rather…what the hell is _that thing_ ….over there?”

Everybody looked up at the blanket covered and bound creature, flanked on either side by two tall hunks, Sebastian and Frank. Sherlock scratched at his jawline and said, “Oh that? I suppose the news is not out then. I had gone off to solve a rather weird case. An eccentric multi-millionaire, who also happens to be a peer recently retired from his House of Lords duties, had created a mini-zoo at his mansion. A tiger had escaped last night and was at large in the city. I tracked it down, simply from its smell and a few wisps of fur, to this place and……hey, where are these people off to?”

As if on _cue_ they heard a growl.

‘Rooooaaaarrrr’

Donovan and Andersen were the first ones to abandon ship with Andersen screaming ‘See I told you it was a real beast’. Behind them were Dean and Carole, dragging their reluctant teenager Simon with them. Up there on the parapet Sebastian leapt up and grabbed the edge of the window and hauled himself into it while Frank, an older and clumsier man, dropped the dumbbell right on to the bundled up tiger before he managed to grab a water pipe and climb down. The captured tiger, scarred emotionally by now and injured by the heavy dumbbell, stopped struggling and became completely still.

John grabbed Sherlock and Jim and started to drag them off the alley just as animal control arrived. Jim, the crazy boffin that he was, elbowed Sherlock on the ribs and said, “Did you get me the black pearl of Borgias as a belated Christmas gift, just like you had _promised_?”

***

As they sat around the scrumptious Christmas dinner organized by John and cooked by Mrs. Hudson with Frank’s help, everyone had only one thing on their minds. ‘All’s well that ends well’. Things had been rather startling and they were all stressed out from it, but no real damages had taken place aside from Mrs. Hudson losing a perfectly good and thick blanket and Andersen losing the plot over how close he was to getting mauled by a real beast. The tiger, when untied and unwrapped, didn’t need any tranquilizing as the falling weight on its head has half knocked it out. It was drowsy and tame and easily got into the cage brought for him. He would be part of the city zoo.

_The crazy owner of it was going to be behind bars. Sherlock had ensured that, with proper evidence and witnesses._

Sherlock had got Jim the black pearl and explained that he had visited the drug den to procure that very jewel, which was in the custody of one of his informers. A happy Jim gave Sherlock a Stradivarius as a new year present, a genuine one, much to Mycroft’s chagrin. “It should be in a museum or with a real collector,” argued the senior Holmes. On any other day John would have been jealous and upset at Sherlock’s unique gift to Jim but that day he was so happy to have his man back that he didn’t care about anything or anyone else.

People got drunk and tipsy and polished off the food with so much gusto that the leftovers dwindled to almost nothing. Mrs. Hudson gave them to Frank and Simon, along with royal tips, for all the help they had provided.

They sat down to watch a Christmas thriller post-dinner but Sherlock and Jim were soon kicked out of the room because they kept revealing the plot. As the two disgruntled geniuses went to the bedroom to play chess, the rest of them heaved a sigh of relief.

“Imagine,” Sebastian snickered at Molly, “You could have been stuck with one of them!”

“The man I dated and the man I had a crush on, _both gay_ , so yayyy me,” Molly scoffed.

Later at midnight as the clock struck twelve, they mingled together and wished each other, exchanging warm hugs and even a few kisses here and there. All the scoffing and complaints, worries and snarling, tribunals and doubts melted away as they ushered in a new year, happy to be safe, healthy and in the company of loved ones. But, as the hour passed and it was 1-30 am, time for everyone to slowly head home, John called out.

“Has anyone _seen_ Sherlock Holmes?”

A collective groan came up from the group and everyone turned towards Jim who had spent the most time in Sherlock’s company. “Don’t look at me,” he said, raising both hands, “I didn’t make him vanish nor do I know where he’s off to. Didn’t tell me anything.”

“Found him,” Mycroft said, voice tired and exasperated as he showed them a note, “I don’t _believe_ this.”

“What is it?” Mrs. Hudson asked, “What’s he written in that note?”

Mycroft read out the note aloud.

_To whoever finds this first_

_It seems that crazy man had a warthog in his zoo as well. That’s escaped too. New case, same old story and background. Will be back soon as I can. Tell John to keep some tea in the flask. Tell Jim I took his knife. Tell Mrs. Hudson to clean up after everyone leaves._

_Sherlock_

_PS: Tell Andersen if he sees a warthog he shouldn’t suspect it’s Donovan this time._

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year all :) Dazzle in 2020!


End file.
